Chapter 26 The Price of Power #3
The magic tore through him with a sound like wet paper shredding. Through fur and flesh and bone, carving a hole in his side that no amount of wolf healing could close. He landed in a heap beside Michael, already shifting back to human form, already bleeding out on frozen ground.
“No—” Michael scrambled to his knees, hands pressing against the wound that was too big, too wrong, too final. “No, no, no. Alaric, stay with me—”
Alaric's hand found Michael's. His grip was weak, trembling, but his eyes were clear. Focused on Michael's face with an intensity that said he knew exactly what was happening and had made his peace with it.
“Hey.” His voice came out wet. Rattling. “Don't look so scared, Harrington. You'll ruin my dramatic exit.”
“Why did you—you shouldn't have—”
“You saved my life in that clearing.” Blood bubbled at the corner of Alaric's mouth, but he was smiling.
Actually smiling, like he'd finally found something worth the price.
“Threw yourself in front of me when you barely knew me.
When I'd been nothing but an asshole to you.” He coughed, and more blood came up. “Couldn't let that debt go unpaid.”
“This isn't—you can't—” Michael's voice broke. “Alaric, please.”
“Tell Daniel I'm sorry.” Alaric's eyes were dimming now, the light fading from them like a candle guttering in wind. “Sorry I doubted you. Sorry I couldn't see what he saw.” His hand tightened on Michael's one last time. “You're pack, Michael. Real pack. Take care of them for me, yeah?”
“Alaric—”
“It's okay.” The smile stayed, even as his breathing went shallow. Even as the life drained out of him one heartbeat at a time. “It's going to be okay. The pack... the pack survives. That's what matters. That's what always matters.”
His hand went slack.
His eyes, those sharp eyes that had watched Michael with suspicion for months, that had softened into something like respect over shared fights and honest conversation, went still and empty.
The sound that tore from the pack was grief made audible. Loss and rage and the desperate fury of watching family die while you were powerless to stop it.
I tried to move. Tried to stand despite broken ribs and magic-exhaustion and the bone-deep certainty that I was so far out of my depth that drowning was the kindest possible outcome.
But my body wouldn't obey, wouldn't let me do more than crawl across churned earth toward the ritual circle where Nate still knelt.
My son. Still breathing. Still bleeding. Still trapped in a spell that was using him to fuel whatever Silas had planned next.
I reached for the moon again.
Please, I thought at the moonlight still struggling to shine through Silas's corruption. Please, I'll pay whatever it costs, just help me save him.
The moon answered again.
Moonlight touched my hands, and I felt the ritual circle's geometry. I saw where Rafe had anchored it, where Silas's power fed into it, where Nate's blood had been twisted to fuel resurrection magic that shouldn't exist.
And I saw the weak point. The place where if I pulled just right, if I poured enough power into disrupting the pattern—
I reached for Nate with moon magic instead of hands. Silver light extended from my palms like threads, wrapped around him gently, and I felt his druid power flare in response.
Dad? Not words. Just recognition across pack bonds and bloodline magic and the absolute certainty of parent and child finding each other in the dark.
I've got you. Hold on.
Nate's druid magic rose to meet mine—green and silver braiding together, earth power and moon magic creating something neither of us could have managed alone. Together we pushed against the ritual circle, found the weak point I'd seen, and pulled.
The pattern shattered.
Not cleanly. Not completely. But enough that the carved lines flickered and died, that the dead luminescence faded, that Nate gasped and fell forward no longer held by corruption magic.
And Silas paused.
Turned away from the pack he'd been systematically destroying. Looked at me and Nate, and his expression shifted from casual dismissal to something that might have been interest.
His smile was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. “How delightfully unexpected.”
He moved toward us, and every step made the ground crack. Made moonlight dim. Made the air taste like grave dirt and old malice.
I threw everything I had at him. Moon magic, ward disruption, desperate fury shaped into silver light that should have been enough to at least slow him down.
It splashed against his defenses like water against stone.
Nate added his power—druid magic pulled straight from the forest's heart, green light that made trees bend toward us and earth shift under Silas's feet.
Together we created a barrier. Fragile, incomplete, held together by nothing but determination and the absolute refusal to let this monster take my son.
It held. Barely. Just long enough.
Silas stopped. Looked at the barrier like it was a curious puzzle, then at us with something that might have been approval.
“Interesting. Very interesting. You're stronger together than you should be.” He glanced at Gideon, who stood frozen at the clearing's edge.
“Your bloodline, my craft. Perhaps there's symmetry in that.”
Then he smiled, and it was a promise. “We'll finish this another time. When I have what I need.”
He dissolved into shadow.
Not a retreat. Not running. Just choosing to leave because he'd gotten what he came for—two hearts devoured, power stolen, and a pack broken by grief and exhaustion.
The clearing fell silent except for labored breathing and the wet sound of blood dripping on frozen ground.
I crawled to Nate, hands shaking, and pulled him into my arms. He collapsed against me, breathing hard, blood soaking through his shirt and mine and I didn't care, couldn't care about anything except the fact that he was breathing.
“I've got you,” I said roughly. “I've got you, you're safe, I've got you—”
“Dad—” His voice cracked. “Alaric—he killed—”
“I know.” I pressed my face into his hair, felt him shake against me. “I know. But you're alive. We're alive. That has to be enough.”
Around us, the pack regrouped. Daniel shifted back to human, moved to where Alaric's body lay, and the sound that tore from the Alpha was grief older than words. Evan joined him, and together they knelt beside their fallen pack member while the others formed a protective circle.
Gideon stood apart, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else. Like Silas's revelation had unmade something fundamental about who he thought he was.
I wanted to go to him. Wanted to say something that would make this better. But I had my son in my arms, and he was bleeding, and the clearing still reeked of corruption magic and death.
So I just held Nate and let moonlight wash over us both—gentler now, almost apologetic—and tried not to think about what Silas had meant when he said we'd finish this another time.
Tried not to think about the fact that we'd survived tonight through luck and desperation, and next time we might not be so fortunate.
Tried not to think about anything except the weight of my son against my chest and the knowledge that for tonight, at least, we were alive.